Adventures in Babysitting
by denise1
Summary: Someone has to look after Little Jack.... And poor Sam gets the duty.


Adventures in Babysitting

By

Denise

"Excuse me, sir?" Sam asked, not quite sure if she'd just heard what she thought she'd heard.

"Major, I know this is an odd request but I really don't think we have much of a choice," the older man said, his broad face alarmingly sympathetic.

"General, even Doctor Fraiser says that Colonel O'Neill is young in appearance only. Mentally he's….normal," she said, struggling to put things as inoffensively as possible.

"Which is precisely why we can't keep him here," he said. "Major, It's one thing to confine him to the base if he's ill but Colonel O'Neill is perfectly healthy, despite recent developments."

"Yes, sir," she agreed. "Maybe Daniel…"

Hammond shook his head. "With all due respect to Doctor Jackson and his recovery efforts, I'm hesitant to burden him with the added stress of Colonel O'Neill. Besides both he and Teal'c are still out questioning abductees," he said, anticipating her next words. "I don't expect them back until Sunday at the earliest."

Sam looked down to her hands, unable to ignore the sinking feeling that was setting up shop in the pit of her stomach. When the general had called her to his office, this was the last thing she'd expected to hear the man say. And frankly, it was the last thing she wanted to do either. "Major," he said, causing her to look up to meet his gaze. "I know this is an imposition but I really don't think we have another option. I would consider it a personal favor," he bargained.

"He won't like it, sir," she said, her voice resigned.

He shrugged. "Unless he wants to spend the next two days confined to his quarters on Level twenty-five, he'll get over it." He got to his feet, signaling the end of the meeting. "I'll inform Colonel O'Neill of the situation, and I'll impress upon him that if he's not on his best behavior, I'll bend him over my knee."

"Sir?" Sam's eyebrows crept up her forehead as her brain struggled to deal with the mental image she'd just been given. He shot her a look that quelled her questions, but suggested that inside he was enjoying at least some aspects of the colonel's present situation.

"When were you planning to leave for the day?" he asked.

Sam looked at her watch. "In a couple more hours, sir."

He nodded. "You can leave whenever you wish. I think the fact that you're basically going to be on duty all weekend will more than compensate for the time."

"Thank you, sir," she said, not quite sure if the extra time off was a boon or a punishment. She so didn't want to do this. Maybe she could talk to Janet, see if her friend could find some medical tests to run. Or maybe there'd be some nice alien invasion. Or a disaster. A disaster would work.

As she walked out of the briefing room, she cast a pleading glance towards the gate room. Where was her dad when she needed him? Surely the Tok'ra were up to something. Why couldn't he come with some nice death defying mission.

She walked down the stairs, meeting O'Neill on the way. "Sir," she said, not meeting his eyes.

"Carter," he acknowledged. "Hammond in his office?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, hiding a grin.

"Thanks," he said, bounding past her, taking the steps two at a time. Oh what she wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall.

XXXXXXXXXX

An hour later she parked the car, shooting a look at her openly petulant passenger. "This was the general's idea, not mine, sir," she said as she turned off the ignition.

He didn't respond, instead unfastening his seat belt, he got out of the car, moving to stand pointedly at the trunk.

Sighing, she too exited the vehicle, locking the doors then moving to the back and opening the trunk. She pulled out her laptop and briefcase while he hefted the duffle bag containing all the clothing he'd accumulated over the past week, nothing that he'd previously owned fit him anymore, the items much too large for his now slight frame.

Shaking her head, she closed the trunk, following him up the short walk to her house. She gathered her mail from the box, ignoring as he rolled his eyes at her delay, then opened the front door, stepping aside as he walked in. He wanted to be this way, fine. Two could play at this game. "You know where everything is, sir," she said, setting down her stuff and hanging her coat in the closet. "Make yourself at home; I'm going to go get some work done."

She picked up her bags and made her way to her office not really caring if he thought she was rude or not. The general had ordered her to baby-sit, not to entertain the colonel. And as he was fond of saying, he was an adult. He could take care of himself.

XXXXXXXXXX

The credits rolled and Jack sighed, reaching for the remote and turning off the TV.  He now knew more about the Golden Gate Bridge than he ever wanted to know. And was totally bored out of his skull.

This sucked. In more ways then he could even describe, it sucked. He didn't need a babysitter, he didn't need a keeper, he needed….hell, he needed a drink.

Frowning at the clock on the VCR, he set down the remote, getting to his feet. His stomach growled, reminding him of one thing that came with this body, a typical teen's insatiable appetite. He made his way down the hall torn between interrupting Carter and the desire to drag her kicking and screaming out of her study.

She'd been sequestered in there since they'd arrived a few hours ago, emerging once to silently grab something from the kitchen, before retreating back to the study. He didn't know what was worse, being told that he wasn't trusted to be let out in the world on his own, or finding out that it literally took an order from the general for her to want to spend time with him.

He stopped in the doorway to her study, taking a moment to watch her. She was sitting in a large office chair, her laptop balanced on her lap. She'd evidentially changed her clothes; now instead of fatigues she was wearing a loose fitting pair of lounge pants and a short t-shirt. She paused in her typing, rolling her head and stretching a bit before starting back on her typing. Either she was writing one hell of an e-mail or she was in the middle of something long and complicated, and it looked like she was in for the long haul in whatever she was doing.

"Carter," he said, walking into the room. "You know what time it is?"

"1900," she said, barely sparing him a glance.

"And in some parts of the world, that's known as dinnertime," he said, moving to stand behind her chair.

"I doubt there's much edible in the fridge. I think there's a pizza in the freezer or you could order something," she said distractedly.

"Aahah. Whatcha doing?" he asked, trying to read off the screen.

"I've got a briefing to lead first thing Monday morning," she said, still typing.

"Practicing a little procrastination?"

"No." She shot him a short look. "I was going to work on this today, but I had a last minute pilots' briefing to prepare…that I never got to give," she said pointedly.

"Ah," he said, grimacing a bit, remembering the pages and pages of graphics he'd used during his briefing. Yeah, that's something she would have prepared. "So, what's your briefing about?"

"Probably nothing you're interested in, sir," she dismissed, the tone of her voice telling him that she was more than a little annoyed about something.

"Try me," he urged, fighting the urge to just turn on his heel and leave, her bad mood grating on his already short nerves.

"I thought you were hungry," she said.

"Carter—"

She sighed, reaching out to save the file and shut the lid on her laptop. "Pizza or Chinese?" she asked, pushing her chair back from the desk.

He stepped back to give her room as she got to her feet…and towered over him. Ok, that's something to get used to. "Mexican," he bargained, unconsciously straightening his shoulders. She wasn't that tall.

She rolled her eyes. "There's not a Mexican place that delivers."

"So, we'll go out," he said, feeling like he was talking to a child. What? Not only did she not want to spend time with him, she also didn't want to be seen with him?

"Fine," she sighed. "I'll go get dressed." She walked past him and into her bedroom, shutting the door with a small slam.

Oddly pleased to have gotten under her skin, he shoved his hands into his pockets and whistled under his breath as he made his way back to the living room. This could be a fun evening.

XXXXXXXXXX

So far, the evening had sucked, Sam thought, relieved when the waitress removed her half eaten plate of nachos. Thanks to a rain storm and it being a pay day weekend, the traffic had been horrible, turning the normally half hour drive across town to Lupita's, the colonel's choice of a restaurant, to an hour long ordeal, topped off by nearly an hour's wait for their table and dinner.

"Can I get you guys anything else?" the waitress asked, picking up the empty platter from in front of the colonel. While the late hour had definitely taken a toll on Sam's appetite, it hadn't seemed to have affected his, if the two baskets of chips and the empty plate was any sign.

"Just the check," Sam said, picking up her glass of diet soda and glancing at her watch. It was now almost 2000 hours, and would likely be past 2300 by the time they got home. Although Lupita's had a bit of a family atmosphere, the tone of the restaurant was starting to change as less people patronized the restaurant part and more clustered around the bar.

"Ok, that hit the spot," he said, leaning back in the booth.

She didn't answer, instead finishing off her soda and fighting the urge to yawn. She'd been up since early that morning, researching the last bit of information for the X-303 briefing, and after the turmoil of the last week, wanted nothing more than to take a long hot bath and go to bed.

In fact, she'd been looking forward to a nice relaxing weekend of puttering around the house and maybe going for a long bike ride when the general had called her into his office, giving her her assignment.

"What's wrong?" he asked as the waitress came back setting their check down on the table. "I got it," he said, snagging the slip of paper and reaching for his wallet.

"Colonel…"

"You drove, I'll buy." He rifled through his cash, then pulled out a credit card, setting it and the check down on the table. "You've been quiet all evening," he said as the waitress took the card and walked away.

Sam shook her head slightly. "I just have a lot of stuff on my mind," she excused.

"What kind of stuff?"

"Excuse me, is this a joke?"

Sam turned her head to look at the waitress. "Is what a joke?" she asked,

The woman held out the check and Jack's credit card. "I know Colonel O'Neill, and you're not him," she said.

"Yes, I am," Jack protested.

"What he means is that he's Jack O'Neill…named after his uncle," she said, shooting Jack a cold look.

"Yeah, well that doesn't explain what you and your boy toy are doing with his card," she said.

"He gave me that card," Jack said, getting to his feet, reaching for the piece of plastic.

"Yeah, right," the waitress said, easily keeping it from his grasp.

"This is just a little misunderstanding," Sam said, reaching for her wallet. She pulled out two twenties and set them down on the table, snagging the credit card from the waitress. "Keep the change," she said, grabbing Jack's arm and pulling him behind her. He made it as far as the door before he pulled his arm from her grasp and stalked across the parking lot in the opposite direction from her car. "Colonel?" she called rolling her eyes when he ignored her.

Digging her keys from her pocket, she got into her car, driving until she was along side him. "Will you get in the car?" she said, rolling down the window. He kept walking, his jaw set and his hands shoved into his pockets. "Colonel?" He shot her a cold look and increased his pace.

She gunned the engine, grateful that Lupita's was off the beaten track and that she wouldn't have to deal with other traffic on the street. She pulled over and got out of the car, turning to face him. "Get in the car," she ordered.

"Get out of my way," he said, pushing past her.

She reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back. He threw off her hand, raising his arms in a fighting stance. "Oh please," she moaned, shaking her head. "Fine. Be that way," she said, turning and stalking back to her car. "I'll leave the key under the mat," she shot over her shoulder as she got into the car and fastened her seatbelt. With one last glance in the rear view mirror, she drove off telling herself that if he could kill a goa'uld single handedly, he could navigate Colorado Springs on his own.

XXXXXXXXXX

Two hours later a very tired and rather glum Jack O'Neill let himself into Carter's house, relieved to at least see that she'd left the lights on. He knew he hadn't exactly been the most grateful of guests, but damn it he didn't need to be watched over like some child, no matter what he looked like. And he sure as hell didn't need some damn waitress copping an attitude and reducing him to the equivalent of ….what'd she call him? That's right, boy toy.

It'd been a long time since he'd been called boy, and he'd be damned if he was anyone's toy. In hindsight he knew that's what had set him off, more than even having his credit card refused.

He'd had plenty of time to think as he'd walked, and time enough to come to the realization that maybe if he stopped acting like a child, maybe they'd stop treating him like one, no matter what he looked like. He should have thought about his appearance before he whipped out his credit card, and his attitude at Lupita's.

He walked into the living room, somehow not surprised to find Carter asleep on the couch, obviously failing in her attempt to wait up for him to make his way from the restaurant. Pulling the quilt off the back of the couch and laying it over her sleeping form; he made his way towards her study and the small fold out sofa she kept there. That was one upside to his recent reduction in stature; at least his feet wouldn't hang over the edge.

XXXXXXXXXX

Sam climbed the stairs from the basement using a small towel to wipe the sweat from the back of her neck. She made her way into the kitchen, smelling the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Opening her laptop, she poured a cup and settled down in the kitchen chair. If she was lucky, she could get this briefing done before lunch and still have part of her weekend left. That is if the colonel didn't come up with something else to throw a tantrum about.

She honestly didn't think she could take another night like last night. He'd obviously made it home, although she had no idea when. All she knew was that she'd woken up in the morning and found him asleep in her study. Not wanting to wake him, she'd simply settled for grabbing her laptop and going down to the basement for a little exercise time. If she was lucky, he'd stay asleep for the next twenty-four hours or so.

A flash of movement caught her eyes and she looked up, smothering a sigh. Nope. Couldn't be that lucky. "Sir," she muttered as he grabbed a mug and poured a cup of coffee. "Have a nice walk?" she asked, really not in the mood to stand on protocol.

"It's one way to break in a pair of shoes," he quipped, sitting beside her. She responded by taking a sip of her coffee and opening her briefing. He frowned, looking at the calendar on the fridge. "No gym?"

"What?"

"I thought you did the gym thing on Saturday mornings."

She shook her head. "No, not anymore. I bought a treadmill for the basement. You're welcome to use it if you want," she offered.

He shrugged indicating his general lack of enthusiasm for her suggestion. "Look, about last night." He paused, waiting for her to look at him. "I'm sorry."

She sighed softly. "You're going to have to get used it," she said.

"Walking home?"

She shook her head. "No. Colonel, whether you want to admit it or not things have changed. Inside you may be Colonel Jack O'Neill, but on the outside you're a kid. When people look at you, that's what they see," she said.

"Yeah, well they shouldn't."

She snorted. "Please. You do it."

"Carter?"

"Think back seven years. What was the first thing you thought when I walked into the briefing room?"

He shook his head. "Hell, I don't know."

"Try."

He shrugged. "Nice legs," he quipped. She rolled her eyes and shot him a look. "Ok, I thought the last thing I needed was some damn scientist telling me how to do my job," he admitted.

"Made worse no doubt by the fact that this blond chick was telling you what to do," she said, not offended by his confirmation of something she'd suspected all along. "How long?" she asked.

"How long for what?"

"How long did it take you to stop seeing me as the blond female scientist that you put up with because Hammond made you?"

He sighed, setting down his mug of coffee. "Somewhere in between taking out Hathor and staying with Cassie," he said softly.

She nodded. "Your body's not going to 'grow up' for about another six YEARS," she said. "And even then you're always going to be young for your age. Colonel, people are never going to stop judging you by your appearance.  You can keep going nuts fighting it, or you can just accept it," she said.

"What if I'm not in the mood to accept it?" he countered.

"Then I think you're going to have a very frustrating life," she said.

He sighed, leaning back in the chair and running his hands thorough his short hair. "This is it, isn't it?"

"Sir?"

"SG-1," he said flatly. "I sure as hell can't go through the gate like this." He plucked at his t-shirt.

"You're not at your most intimidating," she said, earning her a dirty look. "Colonel, I meant what I said about starting over. You've retired what, three times already?"

"The third time wasn't my idea," he protested.

"The point is, sir," she said. "You've got what some would consider the ultimate fantasy. Haven't you ever waned to just go back in time, be young again, but take your knowledge with you?"

"No," he shot back, sitting up straight. "Once was enough, thank you very much."

"So, you'd never want to go back and take that fun class instead of the AP Calculus that looks good on the transcript. Or go to that dance you skipped to study for the SAT's. Or, hell, take advantage of a lack of bad knees and go climb a mountain or something," she said.

"Not particularly," he said, dismissing her suggestions with a small wave of his hand.

She shook her head and bent back over her laptop. "I'm sorry I even brought it up," she said softly.

He leaned forward. "How about you?"

"Sir?"

"Let's say we switched. Would you go back?"

She shook her head again. "We're not talking about me."

"Say we are."

"No."

"Carter?"

She saved her file and got up from the chair. "I'm going to go take a shower," she tossed over her shoulder, ignoring his protests. She was being openly insubordinate, but she really didn't care. She was sympathetic to his condition, but she was also tired of having to defer to his bad humor and at times, pissy attitude. If the situation were reversed, she knew there'd be no end to the wise ass remarks or jokes at her expense.

He commander had a great sense of humor, if an odd one, but it was also notoriously one sided. Always the joker and never the jokee, at least if he had anything to say about it, as evidenced by his pulling of rank when she started to tease him in the commissary.

That little burst of bad temper, on top of his behavior at the pilots' briefing had a lot to do with her mood. That and the fact that she never knew where she stood with him. One day he'd invite her to go fishing and treat her like an equal and a friend, the next he was pulling rank and putting her in her place, sometimes publicly.

And he wondered why people wrote him off as a grump and left him alone.

Gathering her clothes, she walked into the bathroom and shut the door, her mind trying to come up with something to do to keep him occupied and out of her hair for the rest of the weekend.

Half an hour later, cleaner but still at a loss how to spend the next two days, she made her way back into the kitchen, stopping in her tracks at the sight of him sitting in front of her laptop. "Colonel, what are you doing?" she asked.

"This your briefing?"

She looked over his shoulder, reaching around him to pick up the computer. She sat down in another chair and read the screen, then looked up at him. "It was. What'd you do?" She scrolled through the pages, trying to see if he'd changed anything.

"What's with the Tok'ra roll call?" he asked, referring to the subject of her briefing.

"Since we're running into them more and more often now, General Hammond thought it'd be helpful if more of the SG teams knew more about them," she explained.

"Why?"

"He thought it might decrease the chances of a goa'uld impersonating a Tok'ra, for whatever reasons," she said. "It's not going to be perfect though, simply because Selmac's not too crazy about anyone having a list of who's who, but it's a start."

"How long have you been working on this?"

"We've been gathering the information for a few months, whenever we come into contact with the Tok'ra, or whenever dad can make it back for a few hours," she explained. "It all started out with me trying to keep track of Jolinar's memories, I mentioned it to the general one day and it just grew from there," she finished with a shrug.

"So years?" She nodded. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Colonel, the only thing you hate more than your annual physical is the Tok'ra," she said.

"I do not," he protested. She shot him a cold look, holding it until he squirmed and looked away. "Ok, yeah I'm not fond of them," he admitted grudgingly.

She snorted softly, saving the file and closing the laptop. "I'm going to run some errands. Do you want to come or stay here?" she asked, getting to her feet.

He thought for a moment. "Can you drop me off at my place?" he asked. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Look, I haven't been home for a couple of days. I could mow the yard, do some laundry or something. Unless of course you really want me puttering around your place all by myself," he threatened.

"Your place it is," she agreed, getting up from the table.

XXXXXXXXXX

She returned nearly three hours later, her errands incomplete but finally giving into the feeling that something was wrong. She pulled to the curb, noting the freshly mown lawn. At least he'd accomplished something.

Seeing no sign of him and finding the door locked, she made her way around to the back deck. He was sitting on the steps, a beer cradled in his hands. Her instincts screaming at her to take it from him, she took a look at his face and refrained, instead sitting beside him. She stared at her hands, waiting for him to make the first move.

"It's not gonna work," he said after a few minutes.

"Sir?"

He shook his head and motioned towards the large trashcan in the middle of the yard. "I can't pick it up and dump it in the compost pile. I needed gas for the mower but was afraid I'd get pulled over for driving without a license so I had to borrow some from Mrs. Pembroke, then spent the next half hour convincing her that I wasn't stealing the lawn mower, that I was doing a favor for my Uncle Jack," he said, sneering the name. He took a slug of the beer. "I keep a stash of cash in a fake beer can on top of the fridge…I had to climb on a chair to reach it," he complained.

"Colonel, you're going to have to adapt, find new ways to do things."

"Adapt? How exactly do you suggest that I do that? Get Hammond to get me a booster chair? Or maybe I'll just spend a few dozen hours in a tanning bed until I get all wrinkled up and old looking," he ranted.

"Or maybe you'll snap out of this pissy attitude and stop blaming the rest of the world for what's happened," she snapped back, not caring about propriety anymore.

"Now just a—"

"No," she cut him off, getting to her feet and standing over him. "Not this time. What happened, sucks, I'll admit that. But there's nothing any of us can do about it that we're not already doing. We keep trying to help you, but you spend half your time pushing us away, and the rest demanding that we come back and fix it."

"I've got a news flash for you. We can't fix everything. Maybe if you'd stop feeling sorry for yourself you'll see that. I mean, look at you. Just last week you were whining to Teal'c and Daniel about how much your knees hurt and bitching about your gray hair. And now here you are, no more bad knees, no more gray hair, and still you're not happy." She turned away, and then turned back, figuring that she may as well go for broke. He could only court-martial her once. He got to his feet, standing on one of the steps to look her in the eyes, his beer forgotten in his hand.

"I'm sick and tired of putting up with your pissy attitude and your wise ass remarks. If it had been one of us that were in this situation, there'd be no end of the teasing, but god forbid you get as good as you give. Anyone gets close to you; you play the rank card and push them away, keeping them at a nice safe distance. Everything's got to be on your terms. Maybe before you cop an attitude the next time you'll take a good look in the mirror and ask yourself, would you take yourself seriously?"

His jaw set and he stared at her. She could see his eyes narrow and knew he was totally pissed off, probably angrier than she'd ever seen him. Steeling herself for a stern dressing down, she met his gaze, refusing to look away.  They stood like that for a few eternal seconds, neither willing to back down until the shrilling of a cell phone cut through the air, breaking the tension.

She ignored it, not wanting to break eye contact first. "Hadn't you better get that?" he said, spinning on his heels and stalking back into the house.

She sighed, closing her eyes as she reached for the phone clipped to her waist. "Carter?" she said, watching him through the open window as he stood over the sink, dumping out the partial beer. "Yes, sir. We'll be right there." She closed the phone and climbed the steps, stepping cautiously into the house. "Colonel?" she said, keeping her distance from him. "Daniel and Teal'c are back. General Hammond wants us back at the base." He ignored her, sighing and leaning over the sink, the tense muscles of his shoulders visible even under the loose t-shirt he wore. "Sir? Are you ok?"

"Let's go," he said, pushing away from the sink.

"Colonel?"

"The sooner we get there, the sooner we can find out what Daniel and Teal'c found," he said as he walked by her. Running her fingers through her hair, she sighed, then turned on her heel and followed him out to her car, hoping that their friends had found some answers.

XXXXXXXXXX

Two weeks later Sam sat in her lab, trying to write her report in a way that didn't sound too much like a bad fairy tale. Even with all the strange things that usually went on at the SGC, somehow she thought 'a little gray alien named Loki cloned my CO and made a Mini-Me' was stretching things just a little too much.

Things had pretty much returned to normal, or at least as close to normal as the SGC ever got. She, Teal'c and Daniel had spent several hours briefing the colonel, the real one, on events of the past week while they waited on Loki's ship for Thor to fix Duplicate O'Neill.

Yeah, that was a lame name, she thought, showing a real lack of originality on her part. Technically it was right, but it did lack a certain finesse.

"Hey?"

She looked up to see O'Neill standing at the threshold to her lab, the younger O'Neill. "Sir."

"Just Jack, or I should say John," he corrected, walking into the room.

"Really?"

He shrugged. "It works. Better than having two Jack O'Neill's around." He moved to stand beside her. "I thought about dropping one of the L's but…."

"No sense of humor," she interrupted.

"Right."

"So, what now?" she asked after an awkward few seconds.

"Well, Hammond said I could stay, do the prodigy gig, a little advising maybe."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but…that would be…."

"Weird?" she supplied.

"Yeah," he agreed, picking up a pair of pliers off her table and fiddling with them.

"So?" she prodded.

"Well, we agreed that off world really isn't an option. I mean, look at the mess the Robo Me made of things?"

"Then you're going to stay on Earth?"

He nodded.  "Yeah." He moved closer. "Did you mean what you said about starting over?"

"Sir…John," she corrected at his look.

"You were talking before, about going back, making different choices," he prodded.

Sam shook her head. "I said a lot of things in the heat of the moment…"

He raised his hand, silencing her. "Don't worry about it. Tell me," he requested sincerely. "If we were switched, if you had the chance, what would you do?"

She looked down, studying her hands for a few minutes. "You know I wanted to be a cheerleader?" she asked softly. He raised his eyebrows, but remained silent. "There was one thing I could do to make my dad happy. I'd come home with straight A's on my report card. And he'd say 'That's good, Sam. But remember, to get into NASA you have to be better than good'. So I did better. I took more classes and I aced them. And more classes and summer school and lectures." She looked up. "I never went to the dances, or to prom. I never had a summer job because it would interfere with my studies. I never flipped burgers at McDonald's or took tickets at the movies. In fact, the only times I saw a movie was when Mark went on a date and had to take me with him because dad was at work and I couldn't stay home alone.

"You know what I wouldn't give to go back and just be a kid again? To not have lives hinging on your every decision. To just…" She shook her head. "I don't know. To just go back to when your biggest responsibility was to take the trash out and clean your room," she said, more than a little embarrassed.

"I never knew," he said softly.

She shrugged. "I made my peace with it a long time ago. I mean, it's not like I can go back in time and change things."

"Well, actually we HAVE …gone back in time that is," he reminded.

She smiled. "Yeah, we did."

"I think I'm gonna do that," he said.

"What?"

"I talked to Hammond. Him and I both agree that I need some time to get used to being me or this version of me that is. He pulled a few strings, got me a new identity and set me up across town."

"Really?"

"Yep." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "You're looking at the newest enrollee at Colorado Springs High."

Despite herself, Sam laughed. "You're kidding?"

He shook his head. "Nope. I figure I'll give it a year, see how things work out. Hammond says if it doesn't I can come back here, maybe do some consulting or something. Maybe even Area 51."

"That's great."

He shrugged. "I guess. I figure I need some time away from me to be…me. Besides, I think I freak him out."

Sam chuckled. "That's ok. I do it all the time."

"No you don't," he said. "You scare him sometimes, but that's largely because you like to blow things up too much. Anyway, I gotta go. I've got school supplies to buy," he said, making a face. "I'll aah, I'll see ya around," he said, making his way to the door.

"John?" she called. He turned back. "You need something…tutoring maybe," she teased.

He shot her a dirty look, then smiled. "Yeah, no problem Mrs. Robinson. See ya," he said, walking out the door.

She watched him go and shook her head. "God help the principal," she whispered before she turned her attention back to her computer and her unfinished report.

Fin


End file.
